


steps

by peachesandlesbians



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Multi, No Angst, POV Second Person, literally soft domestic gay shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24307048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesandlesbians/pseuds/peachesandlesbians
Summary: Miranda enjoys a lazy Saturday morning with her family.
Relationships: Emily Charlton/Andrea Sachs, Emily Charlton/Miranda Priestly, Emily Charlton/Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs, Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 19
Kudos: 118





	steps

At precisely 8 o’clock, you slip out of your sleep and into the waking world. Warmth surrounds you, and you can’t help but smile. Waking up used to be one of the actions you hated, but how could you not love seeing Andrea in a peaceful slumber? In the comfort of your shared bed, she is unbothered by the daily horrors of the world that plague her so often. The tension held in her shoulders is gone, and so are the wrinkles when she furrows her brow. She is protected.

You turn to the left, your smile getting even bigger at the sound of unintelligible murmurs. Emily’s fiery hair is splayed all over on your chest, her head gently nudging your chin as she moves about in her dream. You hum, stroking her hair to soothe the most restless sleeper you've ever known. 

Scents of cinnamon and your almond shampoo (Emily and Andrea, respectively) combine, and you inhale, the smell relaxing you even more. A golden light falls through the window, making your lovers shine. 

This is the best way to wake up. 

Now, who should you attempt to crawl over? Andrea, you decide instantly. Emily has this unfortunate yet endearing habit of extending her limbs in every direction like a starfish. Andrea, on the other hand, sleeps like a log. 

Biting your lip, you manage to slide from under Emily and practically dance over Andrea. Gracefully, of course. 

As you put on your grey robe, you watch as Emily and Andrea immediately scoot closer in search of warmth, curling around each other until it’s hard to tell where they ended and where the other began. It was most certainly Andrea’s arm around Emily, and her leg sticking out between Andrea’s. As if Emily can hear what you’re thinking, she lets out a little sigh, leaning more into Andrea’s embrace. 

Oh, your beautiful, gentle loves. It’s like something is tugging you to move forward and kiss both their cheeks before walking to the bathroom. It’s about two hours past the usual time you would get up, but you’ll allow it once a week for lazy Saturday mornings. 

Combing your hair is more troublesome after last night (you suppress your thoughts of exactly what happened), but you manage. The next step is makeup, but your hand hovers your kit. Andrea always professes to liking your bare face (imagine that!), while Emily confesses that you help her feel comfortable in her own skin. Mind made up, you nod decisively. No makeup today.

Andrea stumbles into the bathroom, blinking her eyes blearily as soon as you finish putting everything away. You raise your face, like a sunflower to the sun, when Andrea presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well?”

“I always do with you and Em.” Her crooked smile never fails to get your heart racing. 

“Yes, well.” You clear her throat, hoping you’re not blushing. “Me too.”

“I like your makeup today.” Andrea smooths your cheek with her thumb, her gaze still tender. 

You swallow and lean into the touch. “I’m not wearing any.”

“I know, silly.” 

Silly. You sniff. No one has ever called you silly either to your face or behind your back. It’s completely ridiculous that you allow Andrea to, not to mention the warmth that floods your body when she does. “Silly? I’m sure you need no reminder of my reputation.”

“Mhm, yep, you’re so scary. Now, silly woman, make me some coffee, please?” Andrea pulls you in for a kiss, cutting off your noise of outrage. However, you can’t be annoyed for long. Not with the gentleness of the kiss, or the way her arms tighten around you. 

You shake your head as you make your way into the kitchen, ignoring the parting swat Andrea leaves on your behind as she passes by. That woman. What are you going to do with her?

* * *

  
  


Make coffee, apparently. As you lean against the counter, you’re counting down the seconds until Andrea arrives. _Five, four, three, two, and …_

“Is this for me? The way I like it?” Andrea asks from behind you, placing her hand on your waist, and for one second, you’re too consumed in the warmth of her hand to answer.

“Ah, yes! It is. Just the way you like it.” Of course it was made the way she likes it. What are you, a barbarian? 

“Sorry, honey, just checking.” The kiss you share is slow, perfect for today, and you both linger after pulling back. When Andrea runs her fingers through your hair and scratches your scalp, a small sigh slips out of you. She probably has that silly grin on her face already, especially when you close your eyes. 

“You’re like a fuzzy cat, you know that?”

“A cat?” Now that’s an insult to your honor you can’t ignore. “Really, Andrea? You call me silly, then a cat, a fuzzy one nonetheless. How else are you going to slander my name today?”

Andrea bursts out laughing, and although it’s one of the most beautiful sounds you’ve ever heard, a scowl makes its way onto your face. “I do not see any amusement in this situation at all.”

“I’m sorry, honey, you’re just so …”

“So?” Your scowl deepens, expecting another disparaging comment.

“Beautiful. Hilarious. Incredible. Witty. Adorable. I could go on, really.” She leans against the counter, watching you, and you know a blush is rising on your cheeks. 

“Oh. Well.” You’re not exactly sure how to reply. There’s an idiotic lump in your throat—and are you blushing again? What is going on? “I. Um. Thank you.”

“You’re so cute.” She reaches out to push your forelock behind your ear (that should be illegal), smiling at the way your eyes fall to the floor. To catch sight of _that_. 

“Andrea.” You stare at the ugliest pair of socks you’ve ever seen in your life. “What in the world are you wearing?”

“Oh, these?” Andrea grins. “Em bought these for me. Aren’t they so cute?”

“Cute?” Can the atrocious hot pink that assaults your retinas be called cute? Add in a juvenile pattern of flamingos wearing sunglasses and, well. “Cute” is not exactly the word you would use. “Why in the world would Emily buy those for you?”

“Because they’re so ugly and tasteless I knew Andy would like them.”

“Don’t forget cute, sweetheart.”

Finally, Emily enters the kitchen, padding straight into Andrea’s arms. She hides her face in the crook of Andrea’s neck, letting out a pleased sigh when Andrea’s arms enclose her. Her presence is so electric that it sends vibrations throughout the room.

“Morning, baby,” Andrea murmurs.

Emily plays with the ends of Andrea’s hair, twirling it around her fingers. “Hi, Andy. Is my tea ready?”

Andrea’s laugh sounds like birds chirping in the morning. “You’re getting right to it, I see.”

You clear your throat, rattling the teacup, watching as they both turn. They stare at you, and you have to roll your eyes. Isn’t what you want obvious? How did they survive being your ex-assistants for so long?

“Kisses?” You raise your eyebrow as high as it can go. Most importantly, who does Emily think she is, not giving you your morning kisses? “Would you like your tea or not, darling?”

“Sorry, Miranda.” There’s a bit of newfound amusement in Emily’s smile. Earlier sluggishness gone, she glides over to you, cupping your face but not leaning forward yet. 

You swallow. Oh. So that’s how it’s going to be. You see how it is. 

“I forgot all about you, didn’t I?” she murmurs before pressing your lips together. It’s sinful how she tastes like the milk Andrea put in her coffee and the way she drags her lips against yours, tongue lazily making an appearance. Absolutely sinful, and you can’t help but gasp and pull her closer. “There. Do I get my tea now, love?”

“Y-your tea?” You blink once, twice, coloring at the cheeky smile Emily sends you. “Ah, yes.” When you thrust the teacup at her in an awkward, stilted movement, hot tea spills out of the cup and onto your hand. 

If it was possible for someone to die of embarrassment, you would be dead right now. Collapsed on the floor.

“Are you alright?” Emily takes your hand, leading you to the sink. 

Oh, god. “I’m fine,” you reply quickly, sticking your hand under the water. Why do you always turn into a mess about the two people you want to impress the most? “Let’s talk about something else. What are we going to do today?”

Andrea chuckles but follows your change of topic. “I finished the article that was due yesterday, so I’m free for the whole day.”

Emily nods, returning to her spot in Andrea’s arms. “I don’t have much to do today either if you can believe it.” Standing on her tiptoes, she manages to press a kiss below Andrea’s ear, the gesture making her hold Emily tighter. It’s quite enchanting to watch them interact. They’re always touching, which comes as a surprise as Emily was firmly anti-affection. “Was” being the keyword. Since getting a taste of being loved by Andrea, she’s always holding her hand or fitting into the curve of her body. Andrea, conversely, delights in showering her with affection. You can hardly blame Emily; you are the same, after all.

Of course, you have to ruin the moment like you always do. “I do have work today, unfortunately.” That’s as close to an apology they’ll get, but your shoulders sag without your consent, and you turn to place your cup in the sink. You pause. On second thought…

Washing the dishes is a pain, but the scalding water and lack of refinement involved helps you clear your mind. Perhaps it’s because such a pedestrian action is so beneath you. Whatever the reason, you focus on wetting your hands and not the clink of drinkware being placed down. And certainly not on the heavy silence that signifies Emily and Andrea’s silent communication. 

“Well?” There’s too much brittle in your voice. Your ex-husbands always hated that. Your hardness and how you work so much. Too much, they would say.

It’s Andrea (you can tell from her scent) that approaches first, taking you by the shoulders and turning you around. Emily tenderly takes one of your hands in hers, drying it with a cloth. Then the other, paying close attention to your burn and stroking your skin when she’s done. Your lovely Emily. Always trying to protect you.

“There’s no need for that.” You’re not sure if Andrea’s talking about the dishes or your aggressiveness, but knowing her, it’s probably both. She wraps an arm around you, then Emily—and you can’t help but tremble. This, this shared embrace. It’s almost too much to handle. 

“We know who we’re in love with. Your work is a part of you, and we won’t do anything to change that. There’s absolutely no reason to feel bad.” Emily speaks with a newfound confidence, most likely attributed to her therapy appointments, but you’re never been more glad to hear it. 

“Right. Like Em said, we’re not your shitty ex-husbands.” 

“I said nothing of the sort!”

“But you wanted to. I know you did!”

As they intended, their humor breaks the seriousness lingering in the room. You laugh (it comes out rather shakily, how embarrassing), but lean up to kiss them both, hoping they’ll understand the words you’re trying to say.

Judging by the matching smiles on their face, they certainly do.

What sounds like elephants stomping down the stairs alerts you—to everyone, really—that the twins are awake. 

Andrea rolls her eyes. “Guess it’s time to take care of our kids.”

Emily smirks. “Get ready to cook like a slave, love.” 

It’s impossible to describe how flustered you are. Andrea calling the girls “our kids,” Emily not disagreeing with her, the implication that you’re a _family_ is too much for you to handle. 

Fortunately, the twins burst into the room, effectively capturing all your attention. Oh, no. It’s happening again. 

That idiotic fluttering feeling in your stomach when you watch how your loves all interact with each other. 

Andrea ruffles Cassidy’s hair, making her playfully swat at Andrea’s hands. “Andy! Stop it!” They do some odd handshake high-five combination before hugging each other. 

On the other hand, Emily carefully smooths down Caroline’s wild morning hair. “Thanks, Emmy.” They both share a gentle ( _loving_ your mind helpfully supplies) smile, even though “Emmy” does not rank high on her preferred nicknames. 

It’s incredible how the girls warmed up to the both of them—but Emily in particular. They were rather wary of each other when Emily was your assistant, but one night, she talked to them individually, and to this day, you still don’t know what words were exchanged. Whatever she said, it changed the nature of their relationship. Now, your daughters love her to death. 

“So, if you guys are done making out, can you make us something to eat?” Cassidy nudges Andy, snickering. 

“Rude, kiddo! Just for that, I’m going to make your food last.” Andy grins evilly, flicking Cassidy on the side of her head. 

“Nice, Cass! I really need food today.” 

“You always need food, darling.” Emily shakes her head, trying not to smile as she rests her hands on Caroline’s shoulders. 

“Yeah, and?”

For once, you don’t comment on Caroline’s atrocious grammar and instead take a seat at the kitchen table. The room explodes into noise and smells. The fridge door slamming shut because Emily takes out the orange juice and milk (for Cassidy and Caroline respectively). The crack of the stove turning on. The birds chirping outside. The bacon and eggs Andrea makes. Everything contributes to the symphony of the world. It’s wonderful. 

As you watch your family laugh together, everything clicks into place. You’re acting so strange—like such a messy fool—because you’re in love. Real love. You’re in love, and you’re happy, and it’s never felt better. 

* * *

_“oh god it’s wonderful_

_to get out of bed_

_and drink too much coffee_

_and smoke too many cigarettes_

_and love you so much” — Steps,_ Frank O’Hara

  
  



End file.
